


Do Humans Dream of Robotic Death?

by SpasticBookworm



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Cybertronian Civil War, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post 2nd movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpasticBookworm/pseuds/SpasticBookworm
Summary: He was still seeing symbols. Only not so much symbols as pictograms. And not so much pictograms as images.Sensory images.And then not so much sensory images as high-def, total immersion videos.(Set not long after the second movie, and ignores everything after it.)
Relationships: Bumblebee & Sam Witwicky, Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**_It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring._ **

**_He went to bed and bumped his head_ **

**_And couldn’t get up in the morning_ ** _._

_Traditional children’s song_

He was still seeing symbols. Only not so much symbols as pictograms. And not so much pictograms as images. 

Sensory images.

And then not so much sensory images as high-def, total immersion videos. 

Long epics that played only behind his eyes, in his head. Spans of minutes taken up by him staring vacantly into space, watching things that happened more years ago than humans could even conceive.

Histories. Theologies, wars, _massacres_. 

(Do humans dream of robotic death?)  
  


Rivers of skittering sparks aren’t all that different from rivers of dripping blood.  
  


(Does Sam Witwicky dream them all?)

* * *

Bumblebee was worried. Catatonic states should not occur randomly throughout the day. 

Each time lasting longer; taking Sam longer to return to his normal self. 

Contact with Optimus had been thought of, only to be discarded when Leo assured him it was only post-traumatic shock, a human thing. Leo would handle it.

So Bumblebee waited in silence, watched as his best friend fell deeper and deeper into himself.

(How far can humans fall before they break?)  
  


And then Sam started his oscillating fan for 93.32 minutes.   
  


(How far does Sam Witwicky have left to fall?)

* * *

Leo knew shock. The first few days after Egypt, he’d been in it. But this.

Sam wasn’t in shock. He was an old pro at the alien thing. It had looked like it at first, Sam going quiet for a minute or two then shaking it off and continuing his day. So Leo said a human would be better at handling it, _he’d_ handle it. But now.

He’s not sure if Sam’s even blinked once since going still. Their stainless steel fan didn’t hold the answers to life, the universe and everything, and Leo was worried. Sam wasn’t there when he was like this. All body. No soul.

An empty vessel waiting to be filled. 

Normal people aren’t meant to leave their bodies like that. 

(How long can a body be empty before it can never be filled again?)  
  


Leo turned to go tell Bee they needed reinforcements, maybe a priest.   
  


(How long can Sam’s body be empty before he can’t come back to it?)

* * *

Will had watched buddies die in combat. Helped the greenhorns serving their first tour through the shock of war; of that first _kill,_ that’s more than one human being dying because hardly ever do you just hit _one_ with explosives.

But he wasn’t prepared for the kid who turned soldier too soon to be like _this._

He respected Sam, more than he did a lot of the higher-ups in Washington. Kid fought hard for his friends, fought even harder alongside them.

Seeing him suddenly shut down of all his senses in the middle of a Denny’s grand slam breakfast iced over his stomach and sent fear racing down his spine. This kind of fear isn’t something the Army Major has experienced since word reached him in Qatar that Sarah’s delivery had been touch and go. 

Fear has no place in a Special Operations Army Major’s life. But now he was afraid. 

The clanking of cutlery onto Sam’s plate was like a death knell in the mostly deserted 24-hour restaurant. This was what Leo and Bumblebee described to him only hours ago. 

(Do friends have strength enough to help when they don’t even know what’s wrong?)  
  


Will slowly set down his coffee and concentrated on getting Sam out to the parking lot and Bumblebee.  
  


(Does Sam Witwicky have enough strength left to be helped?)


	2. One

**One**

_ The orange glow of fire reflects off the shining city around him, distorting and bouncing the image around like a house of mirrors until he’s not sure which is flame and which is reflection.  
_

**_‘Breach in main system controls. Attempting to override navigation and propulsion.’  
_ **

_ It’s like being at the drive-in, with the speaker right next to your ear. The high definition explosions deafening; he even feels the resulting rumble vibrating under his feet.  
_

**_‘Acknowledged. Hard burn ETA one minute-forty seconds. We’re going in too hot. Collision is imminent. Secure transmissions for long-range sonic bursts.’_ **

_ Everywhere he turns there’s fighting. Savage and uncoordinated now that both sides are near defeat. There’ll be no winner for this battle. But the war will rage on and many more will die. He knows. He’s been through battles like this before.  _

**_‘Unable to override. Transmissions sent. Let’s hope to Primus it does the others some good.’_ **

_ A fireball erupts in the ash filled sky like a comet, a harbinger of death.  _

**_‘We shall yet prevail in this war. The power of the Primes is-’_ **

_ He’s since stopped trying to shield himself from falling debris, and instead watches as the large ship impacts the city and in seconds he’s incinerated in the fall out blast.  _

_ The fires have all finally been put out, but there’s no one left to care.  _

* * *

“…long this time?” Sam comes awake as he always does now. Slowly and not knowing if it’s his world he’s in. If the air he’s breathing is really oxygen, if the sounds are really car horns and fans instead of cannons and warning sirens. 

Part of him still wonders if this is how war vets come awake. The larger part just doesn’t care anymore. 

“Sam?” Leo’s hovering over him. His eyes wide and worried. Sam slowly shifts his eyes to look directly at him.

He blinks and Leo slumps back a bit. “Major! He’s awake!”   
  


**_‘They are weak.’  
  
_ **

Sam blinks again and suddenly Leo is replaced by Will Lennox. Sam wonders if he only imagined Leo. 

“Hey kid, you with us?” Will’s hand is reassuring on his arm. He finally feels grounded, anchored to the world he’s meant to be in. 

His throat is contracting and he knows he’s trying to speak, but it just doesn’t want to happen.

“Get him some water, and tell Bee.” Will doesn’t take his eyes off him, and Sam isn’t sure why, but he’s never been more relieved to be stared at. He can’t move his own eyes either, but he blinks again. And again. And is he imagining that too? Or does Will seem to relax a tiny bit more every time? 

“Found a straw. It was from my Sonic’s mango-apple smoothie. But I rinsed it!” A straw is held to his lips and before he opens his mouth and sips the lingering scent of mango wafts into his nose. 

It’s better than the scent of scorched metal that’s invaded it for days now. Sam’s sure he’ll never take up soldering as a hobby. 

The cold burst of water is like Heaven, and Sam shies away from that analogy because if there’s Heaven, then there’s Hell and Sam’s pretty sure he’s been spending a lot of time in Cybertronian Hell and wants nothing to do with it when he’s in control. 

“Slowly kid, don’t choke.” Will takes the glass away and sets it on the bedside table. 

“Wh-what time is it?” Sam asks and that time he’s sure he’s not imagining the relieved sigh Will lets out. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming-and maybe he has been, there or here. 

“About 0700.” Sam frowns and tries to think. Does that make sense? He’s really sure he’s not imagining this. He’s pretty much positive that’s he’s back now, but that-

“About 7 in the morning,” Will clarifies and oh. Military time. Sam thinks he should know that, but doesn’t try to hang onto the thought. There’s a lot of things he  _ shouldn’t  _ know, maybe that’s one of them. 

“Bee wants to see him,” Leo says, standing in the doorway with one hand still on the handle. 

“Bumblebee can wait a few more minutes.” Will barely spares Leo a glance, his attention still on Sam and Sam wonders what he looks like. There’s no pity in the soldier's gaze, but there’s concern and something close to fear; Sam doesn’t want to see the older man's fear: He has enough of his own. 

Sam tries to sit up just as a loud honk echoes outside. He stiffens for a second before firmly telling himself it was Bee and that’s all and he can take a breath any time now.  _ Really _ . He inhales and redoubles his efforts to sit and carries the motion into trying to stand. Will is right there to lend a hand, an arm, a shoulder when Sam manages to get to his feet and knees don’t cooperate. 

“Window,” he manages. His eyes are scratchy but his throat and vocal cords are working again. He’s slowly getting used to his body again; feeling his legs take one step then another, his knees bend and his feet taking his weight.

He lets Will open the window and looks down at Bumblebee, the car's headlights flashing. “I’m alright Bee. I’m alright.” He doesn’t yell it- he’s not sure if he could yet- but Bee’s lights fade to a soft glow and he forces his facial muscles into a smile that he’s not really ready for but if it stops his friend from worrying then he’ll suffer the pull of facial muscles. 

“Come on kid, you should rest,” Will starts leading him away from the window and back to bed. 

“No!” The shout is a pale imitation of a raised protest, but he locks his knees to get the point across. “No sleep, please.” He doesn’t care if he’s begging. He looks into the Major’s eyes and grits his teeth, lets his eyes tell the story.

Slowly Will nods, an understanding shared between two men who’ve seen nightmares come to life on a battlefield. “Get into some loose clothes, we’re going for a run. A walk,” he amends when Sam takes a wobbly step. 

It isn’t what Sam wanted, exactly, but it’s better than sleeping. Sleeping means dreaming and dreaming means seeing what he’s seen again before he has too. 

On second thought, a walk is probably exactly what he needs. Sam digs out shorts and a shirt that can pass for exercise clothes and finally feels himself becoming himself again. Maybe it will be a run. Maybe he can run and run and not stop until he leaves everything behind him like a horrible work of fiction that didn’t really happen to him at all. 

The phantom taste of destruction clings to the back of his throat, like a taunt telling him he can run, but he can’t hide. 

* * *

“How’re your classes going?” Will asks. It’s almost three hours later and so far still present. He actually has a class at noon but also some leeway for the whole semester. Apparently he went through a ‘trying, emotional time’ and deserves the universities ‘full support’ because the ‘reprehensible situation that had befallen a member of their educational family’ had ‘obviously taken its toll on the young man.’ 

Sam’s not sure what story the government created for his and Leo’s absence or the damage done before their capture. Maybe something about terrorists, it’s always terrorists. He might have asked, once, on the plane from Egypt, but he doesn’t remember. 

It’s just one more lie veneered over his life like a glossy finish over ugly wood. 

Sam’s life has been a cover up since he bought his first car; even without the ‘Spark and alien gremlin messing with his head, who’s to say he wouldn’t have issues, eventually? He died. Was dead. Is now the living dead. 

Sam feels he’s lucky, considering. 

“As good as can be expected when taking advanced classes and missing the first two months of school.” He purposely leaves out the part where blanking out during a lecture isn’t helping either, but it’s there in the pause before Lennox nods anyway. 

By this point, Sam’s just thankful freshmen don’t have labs first semester for any of his classes. He refuses to think of the next one, after the holidays that are rapidly approaching. 

The future is just the past that hasn’t happened yet. Sam’s already had enough pasts to last a lifetime of futures. 

There’s a long pause as they walk through the campus grounds. Sam’s never been popular and the nods he gets in greeting are almost as disconcerting as his condition _. _ Leo’s website had gotten the only scoop of what happened- heavily edited, censored, and it’s not actually the truth, but what he was allowed to tell isn’t strictly lies either. 

It’s a government fabricated truth, and in America that practically makes it God's Honest Truth. 

So Leo’s the only one who had answers to questions and nevermind that Sam’s the one the terrorists had wanted. Sam is Leo’s roommate and popular by default and he’s cool with that. He doesn’t need the attention right now anyway.

* * *

There’s a raven perched on a telephone pole when they make it back to Sam’s building. 

For half a second he thinks it’s an omen, but then he decides that’s silly and walks silently up to Bee, his fingertips trailing from taillight to door. It pops open and Sam tells himself that’s it’s fine, he can sit in Bee. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

It’s nothing like being in  _ there. _ Bumblebee’s an Autobot, but also he’s safety and love and Sam clenches his jaw until it aches and slides behind the wheel. He’s usually much better at getting over it and into Bee than this. 

Once he sinks into the seat it’s like he’s boneless. There, cradled in the sun warmed leather of the race of aliens that’s the reason for his side-trips to the Wherever, Sam finally feels like he’s himself again.

It doesn’t make sense, but things haven’t for a while now.

The door closes and Sam barely has time to wave to Will before Bee’s pulling out of the space, the parking lot, then finally the campus. 

He’s sweaty, smelly, thirsty and is probably going to miss his afternoon classes again but he doesn’t care. He lets out a sigh and rests his hands on the wheel for show. But his eyes slip closed and his head presses into the headrest and anyone looking closely wouldn’t buy that he’s actually driving.

He feels the hum of the road as Bee accelerates. He has no idea where they’re going, but he lets the gentle vibration ease him to sleep. The only time he’s not afraid of nightmares is when he’s in Bee. He’s okay for a few hours, at least. He thinks he mumbles a ‘love you, Bee’ before there’s nothing but the wonderful peace and blackness of true unconsciousness.    
  



	3. Two

**Two**

**_Hey, old friend,  
What do you say, old friend?   
Make it okay, old friend…_ **

_Stephen Sondheim ‘Like It Was’ (Merrily We Roll Along)_

  
  


When Sam wakes up, it’s normal. Blessedly, undeniably normal. He knows where he is-for the most part- and who he is. He’s still in Bee, and since the seat is reclined farther down than normal cars seats can, they’re somewhere far enough away that his pretense of driving wasn’t needed.

“Bee?”

The radio clicks on softly as he stretches cramped muscles. 

_“See the pretty countryside…”_

Sam lifts the seat back up and looks out the window. The trees are varied hues of red, yellow and orange and for a second Sam thinks they’re driving through fire- but no.

He shakes it off and refuses to let it back in his mind no matter how much it wants to. It’s the New England countryside in the Fall. Not a blazing tunnel of fire. 

“Where, exactly, are we?” He has to clear his throat before the words come out, and he remembers one of the very few drawbacks to a car that changes into a giant robot: A bottle of water kept anywhere has a fifty/fifty chance of surviving. 

He left a Dr. Pepper on the seat last summer; when it’s humid Bee still claims the seats are sticky.

_“There’s no Earthly way of knowing-”_

Sam rolls his eyes, but hears his first genuine chuckles escape. It startles him. “You do too know where we are. You’re like, the world's best GPS.” He lets the sentence trail off as they pass a road sign proudly stating ‘Best pies in all of Connecticut, next right.’ 

His stomach rumbles on cue and Sam remembers the aborted Denny’s breakfast with Will was the last time he ate. He only managed a few bites of it before-

He caresses the steering wheel, pushes breakfast away and hopes the smile he’s pulling looks and sounds as genuine as the chuckle. He’s getting there. Really, he is. “Hey Bumblebee?”

Bee’s only answer is turning right at the break in the **_fire_ **-trees, they‘re just trees-that heralds the English cottage-style diner.

Sam grits his teeth and closes his eyes. He likes pie. 

He likes pie, has nothing against English cottages and it’s trees, not fire and he’s _not_ having an episode here and now. 

His mind doesn’t listen to him anymore; free will is an illusion. 

But Sam is nothing if not stubborn. He can smell the fresh baked goodness and he’s not about to ruin what is a pleasant, nice outing with his best friend. 

A white-trimmed cottage boasting the best pies, in the middle of the beauty of Autumn isn’t the place to bring death.

The glove box popping open snaps him out of it. He sees a collage of nature’s colors as he turns to look next to him.

His wallet and cell sit inside and Sam wonders how long Bee planned to kidnap him. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and is leaning over to grab them when he stops seeing nature’s pallet and instead sees gray and black destruction. He doesn’t even have time between the two to feel anything about ruining the afternoon. 

* * *

**_‘A soldier's duty is to die for his belief, if die he must.’_ **

_Sam can’t see where the voice is coming from. Usually he just knows. In the back of his mind, he knows what’s happened to voices he shouldn’t be able to hear, and Cybertronians he can’t see._

_He’s connected to them, somehow._

**_‘A soldier's duty is to die for his belief, if die he must.’_ **

_The building he’s in is all sharp edges and rubble. There’s no smoke, no cannon blasts, no fighting. Just scorch marks telling the tale of battle._

_There’s nothing to see, nothing to learn- if that’s what this condition is for. He takes a step forward and feels the rubble shift under his feet, he knows it doesn’t move. He looks down anyway._

_There’s a piece that doesn’t belong by his right foot. Metal in rock._

**_‘A soldier's duty is to die for his belief, if die he must.’_ **

_Sam hasn’t tried talking since the first few times he went Wherever. It was useless. He can hear them, but they can’t hear him. But then again, if it is history he’s watching- and he thinks it is-then that makes the most sense of the entire thing._

_He can’t actually move anything either. The sensations are all there, but interacting is a one-way street and he’s going the wrong way._

**_‘A soldier's duty is to die for his belief, if die he must.’_ **

_That’s whose voice it is, he knows then._

_He can’t help the being trapped, crushed, skewered and left for dead. He doesn’t know if it’s Autobot or Decepticon._

_It doesn’t matter._

_Sam sits where he can, close to the finger- he thinks it’s a finger, it looks like one of their fingers- and gazes around at the ruins in front of him._

_Maybe it was a temple of some kind. He doesn’t know what planet this is so it’s anyone’s guess to whether or not they had need of temples. Maybe it was a school._

_Sam sits and tries to block out the silence, which is an odd turn. Usually it’s too loud, too chaotic, too aromatic. He looks over at what he can just make out as the dying spark’s glow through the cracks in the rubble._

**_‘A soldier's duty is to die for his belief, if die he must.’_ **

_He thinks about turning around, toward where he feels a breeze that he shouldn‘t feel, and looking at the world. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to know what he’ll see. It’s relatively peaceful right now, the best-case-scenario the Wherever has to offer._

_So he sits and waits for the being to die, because they don’t have to die alone, even if they really are._

**_‘A soldier's duty is to die for his belief, if die he must.’_ **

* * *

It’s the first time he’s fast in coming back to himself since the first few trips and Sam thinks it’d be a good thing, if the circumstances were different.

If he weren’t sitting in Bee, if he hadn’t just watched a spark fade away in another casualty in an on-going civil war that could easily have been Bee or Ironhide or… any of his friends had things gone worse for them. 

Now Sam knows all the universes are out to get him. 

When it hits him where he is, he flings himself out of Bee and throws up the little water he has in his stomach. 

He’s still in the diner’s parking lot, which means he wasn’t gone long. Small favors. 

Sam’s learned to take them when he can. 

When his stomach settles he sits on the gravely cement and stares at his car. His best friend. 

His alien robot who’s fighting a millennia old civil war, and for what? The AllSpark, the Matrix, the machine. They’re gone. 

Autobots and Decepticons: They’ll keep fighting, because that’s probably all they remember doing. 

Like a species wide blood-feud without the blood. 

Suddenly Sam wants _normal_. Three years ago normal. Not current normal. 

Current normal isn’t really normal at all. He’s pretty sure his life stopped any real semblance of normal the day his old teacher decided Jesus would give him that last A he needed. 

Sam used to say normal is overrated. Sam also used to be able to stay in his body and not take trips as a phantom through another race’s history, so really, what’s he know? 

“I’m alright, Bee,” he says, cause he knows Bee is worrying and probably a short minute from contacting Will or something. But it's a lie. Another one. Lying doesn’t mean as much to him anymore. 

He steals himself and gets up, gets his wallet and phone.

“I need pie,” he says by way of explanation. He knows it’s not right of him to leave Bee like that, pretending he didn’t just spend a few minutes in the Wherever. 

He knows it. It almost hurts him. But he still walks into the diner. 

* * *

He orders lemonade and a slice of coconut cream because the cherry looks like blood and he doesn’t want to taint the all-American-apple with his psychosis. 

That’s all in his head, but then lately, what isn’t?

The elderly waitress sets his pie down along with the lemonade and a smile.

Sam manages to give her a distracted type of smile in return as he thumbs through his contacts. 

He hovers over Mikaela and wonders if Leo or Will called her already about all this.

He doesn’t wonder long though and he doesn’t want to talk to her either.

He’ll think about why later. He scrolls down one more.

 _Miles_. 

His old best friend. Sam feels a guilty ball form in his stomach. His oldest friend, and up until a few years ago, his only friend.

And he left him behind faster than Bee could hit 90mph. 

Miles is normalcy because of that. He doesn’t know about the aliens, about Mission City. 

He probably knows about Sam being wanted by the military and ‘terrorists’. Unless he’s living under a rock. But Sam has changed all his phone numbers since then, and so have his parents. 

He didn’t even think of giving anyone but Mikaela, Lennox and Leo the new one. 

Some friend he is.

Sam feels oddly nervous as he hit’s the call button.

“Yo.” Miles’ voice adds something else to the guilt.

He chokes down some lemonade. “Miles. Hey.” 

“Who- _Sam_?”

His old friends’ voice sounds equal parts relieved and pissed and all at once, Sam wants nothing more than to tell him everything. Explain things as best he can.

He doesn’t of course, can’t. He settles for telling what he can, omitting things instead of the reflex of lying. Avoiding what he’d have to lie about when omitting doesn’t cut it.

Then he turns the tables and listens to Miles talk about his own life and sighs. Normal. Girl problems, school work, his dog and parents…

The coconut cream pie tastes like paradise and the ball of guilt unravels as he falls back into the steady, easy, conversation with his oldest friend.

Slowly, the dread of getting back into Bee fades, and when his battery is on it’s last leg and Sam has to hang up, the trees outside don’t look anything like fire. 

* * *

_“Tell me that you’re alright. Yeah everything is alright.”_ Greets him when he gets back in Bee. 

Sam takes a deep breath to be sure the phone call didn’t just lull him into a false sense of sanity. It didn’t. 

“I’d be better if you hadn’t used that song.” He tries to joke. He’s pretty sure he succeeds. The song keeps playing and Sam rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just playing it to be annoying.” 

It’s true, but the banter combined with the phone call has left Sam feeling better than he has in months. He puts Bee into gear, letting the Autobot know he wants to drive.

Bee lets him without comment, so Sam lets him have his Motion City Soundtrack. For a few hours Sam drives and finally, _finally,_ has some peace in his head.  
  


In hindsight, he supposes he really should have known better. 

Since when is he allowed any peace?


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam mixes his science fiction and just really wants a cheeseburger

**Three**

_ Megatron is staring at Optimus and Sam feels the energy crackling through the air; overcharged and dangerous.  _

_ It’s like an old western standoff, only Sam’s pretty sure he’s on a spaceship and not in the Old West. He should still be in New England, in Bee, and oh God, he was driving. _

_ A shudder goes through him and it’s the first time in a long time that he’s thinking about where he should be while he is where he is. But then, he can’t do anything about it, so why bother? _

_ Optimus shifts his weight and Sam’s attention is drawn back to the scene playing out. He knows what’s about to happen, has seen the same shift so many times… so the cannon blast that comes a millisecond later is of no real surprise. The fact that Megatron just stands there and takes it, however, is. But that’s all he takes. The next second he’s returning fire. It’s fast and destructive and Sam only looks away when a shot goes wide and a hull breach pulls the sound out. _

_ Sam stares out into the vastness of a galaxy far far away and thinks, with a little humor, that Luke Skywalker’s got nothing on him. The swirling colors of a nebula are so close Sam thinks he can run his fingers through it like wet paint; rearrange it, paint a different picture, and hope for a better world. _

_ Then a massive form is racing through the hole, and the edges of the breach are rippling behind him, sealing the gaping wound, and Sam turns to see Megatron at the controls and realizes he doesn’t know what just happened.  _

_ The ship is starting to get cold and fuzzy, black spots are dancing in front of his eyes and he wonders if it’s space sickness. He thinks how unfair that is. Luke Skywalker never got space sickness. He got mind control and a lightsaber, and Sam feels that’s really not fair.  _

_ The bridge is missing the water and the Captain's chair doesn’t hold Jim Kirk; it’s not a Klingon or a Stormtrooper either and Sam decides this is the worst vacation he’s ever had, and he’s including the Grand Canyon when he was eight and his mom made him ride the donkey that ate his pants. He’s going to complain to his travel agent, just as soon as he remembers where he left his phone because they’re mixing their sci-fi now and it’s just getting ridiculous, not to mention the faulty air conditioner and lights that are going wonky.  _

_ The spots are expanding and right before the room blacks completely, Sam thinks he sees fire and he’s pretty sure he feels supple leather but he’s finally getting warm, so he’ll demand a refund after he sleeps off the jetlag.  _

**_-_ **

He has no idea where he is. He thinks he’s awake, thinks he’s in the right place, mentally or spiritually. Doesn’t think he’s in the Wherever anymore.

He wishes he could be sure. 

He remembers a spaceship and a rainbow of colors he ached to touch. He remembers leaving the diner and the coconut cream pie and  _ Miles _ . 

He remembers driving. The tunnel of fire- no, the autumn trees that lined the road. 

He has no idea where he  _ is _ . 

He forces his eyes open and the light is nearly blinding. 

Sam blinks.

In front of him, Ratchet is standing next to Bumblebee, large metal hand on the smaller ‘bots shoulder and-

Sam blinks.

_ Ratchet is pacing up and down a broken road, face tipped up towards the dark red skies and-  _

_ Sam blinks. _

The smooth glide of gears whir to life as Optimus arrives and-

Sam blinks.

_ The grinding sound of metal gears gone too long without oil is loud and- _

_ Sam blinks. _

Bumblee’s bright blue optics are as close to his face as they can get, and it reminds Sam of when he was a kid and he would stare into the light bulb until his eyes hurt and he’d squeeze them shut and see dots dancing behind his eyelids.

He’s afraid to blink again. He opens his mouth, to say what, he doesn’t know, but his eyes are getting itchy and he-

Blinks.

Bumblebee’s moving back and turning away and Sam wants to cry, wants to tell him to come back, He can’t get any words out; he isn’t sure he’s even breathing. 

“Sam. Sam, can you hear me?” Will’s face replaces Bee, who Sam can see hovering anxiously behind the other human. 

Sam tries to say something and can’t. At least now he’s sure he’s breathing if the way it starts speeding up and making his chest hurt is anything to go by. 

At least he also knows for sure he’s awake now: he’s never had a panic attack in the Wherever.

“Okay, Sam, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, just blink if you can hear me,” Will says and that’s enough to tear a laugh from Sam. It’s only a tiny bit hysterical so Sam counts it a win for his mental health. 

The other man grabs his hand and places it over his chest and Sam is pretty sure he’s meant to mimic his breathing but all he can do is try not to smell burning metal. 

“In for four...out for four,” Will says. Sam really does try to count but his eyes are starting to itch from holding them open and it’s distracting. 

His breathing must have a mind of its own though cause soon he doesn’t feel like he’s panicking again, which is good. Now if only his eyes-

Sam blinks. 

Will is still in front of him. His hand is still on the man's chest. 

For the first time in what feels like years, Sam smells crips New England air and not burning metal. Sees the harsh lights the Autobots are providing so the humans can see. 

Can feel scratchy brown grass and dirt under his other hand. He digs his fingers in as far as they’ll go; all the better to ground himself with.

He looks down as Will removes his hand and laughs. 

“Sam?” Will sounds hesitant. Sam manages to pull up some dead grass and dirt and holds it out. 

“Grounding myself. Get it?”

Leo’s groan is almost worth it. 

**-**

They’re at an impasse. Sam refuses to go to a hospital, and Bumblebee refuses to let anyone near enough to force him. 

Will and Ratchet are firmly on the side of getting Sam to a human doctor. 

Only Leo and Optimus remain neutral and Sam wonders, if that makes the two Switzerland, is he and Bee Axis or Allies?

Absently Sam wishes he paid more attention in history and pushes himself up off the ground. It’s been twenty minutes since he’s been back and he can’t keep sitting in this field. His ass is getting numb and his stomach is growling. How long ago was the pie? 

His movement draws attention and an itch starts under his skin. He should have had two slices. 

“What time is it?” He feels like he’s asked this question to the group already. He doesn’t hear the answer, too busy trying to remember and then they’re all staring at him more intently and he nods like he’s paying attention and resolves to look at Bee’s clock once they leave. 

“We can’t sit around here until Germany surrenders,” he says. He resolutely ignores their confused and concerned looks and glances at Bee. “I want a cheeseburger.” 

He misses Bee’s quick slide from bipedal to Camero, too focused on pushing himself up off the ground, but as soon as he looks back over his car is waiting, engine revving, and passenger-side door invitingly open. 

Him not driving is probably for the best. 

He ignores the others and slides on the warm leather seat. His eyes catch on the clock, 1:07 am 

He’d been Away nearly 12 hours. 

That has to be a record.

Bumblebee speeds away, dirt kicking up behind them like a shroud. 

He just wishes it was one he could get an award for. 

**Author's Note:**

> I started this way back when the second movie came out. Then I lost it. Now I have it again and let's see where it takes us <3


End file.
